


Burning Bright

by LydianNode



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: AIDS, Angst, BABY RUFUS!, Friendship, Gen, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 00:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18271940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: When Roger takes his newborn son to visit Freddie, hearts are opened and a plan is formulated.Freddie was playing the piano, his head bowed in concentration. Even through the velour of his tracksuit, Roger could plainly see sharpness in his bones that hadn't been so pronounced just a few weeks ago, and there were little hesitations in the chord changes when his frail fingers couldn't quite keep up with the music in his head.





	Burning Bright

March 12, 1991

 

Keeping dark secrets and making them look light was one of Roger Taylor's strengths.

_Roger! Roger! - Is it true that Freddie's seriously ill?  
Piss off, I saw him at the gym today._

He was honing his acting skills each time he dealt with paparazzi. It helped when he had Brian's hand on his shoulder, or when he felt John's calm, quiet presence at his side, but he was learning more every day about how to cover up the icy clench of his muscles every time he thought about Freddie.

Freddie, his dazzling, gifted friend, whose light seemed to grow fainter with each passing day, was always in his thoughts.

The limo driver had to stop abruptly as a gaggle of tourists crossed the road looking the wrong way. _Fucking Americans,_ Roger thought as he tightened his grip on the beloved cargo next to him.

Less than a hundred hours old, little Rufus was sound asleep in his carrier, one tiny fist next to his face as if holding up an imaginary drumstick.

It was a miracle that Debbie had let them out of the house. She had finally acquiesced when Roger widened his eyes and protested that it was so terribly unfair to keep Freddie in the dark any longer. _He needs cheering up,_ Roger had insisted, and Debbie couldn't say no to that.

Roger did feel a little out of place with a bag full of baby things at his feet, some of which he couldn't even identify. He hadn't been all that hands-on with Felix or Rory as infants, but he'd been on the road or in the studio with Queen most of the time. Oh, those carefree days when Freddie was healthy and they thought they had all the time in the world.

No. He wasn't going to let himself get so...Brian-ish. God knows he'd made enough snarky remarks about Brian being _artistically maudlin_ that he couldn't afford to go down that same path. John was just as bad in his own way, either drinking himself into oblivion or simply staring at nothing and refusing to acknowledge that the H.M.S. Queen was about to hit an iceberg.

 _Not today,_ Roger reminded himself. He traced the soft, round outline of his son's downy cheek and smiled. With Phoebe's help, Roger had kept the news of Rufus' birth a secret from Freddie. Not that Freddie read the papers much these days, not since the paps had begun their merciless torment, but Roger desperately wanted to give his friend a pleasant surprise.

Freddie wasn't getting many of them lately.

 _This might be the best time to drop by,_ Phoebe had whispered over the phone this morning. _He's having one of his good days.  
_

So Roger had packed up enough equipment to haul his new son up Kilimanjaro, booked a limo and driver to keep Debbie from worrying about speed limits and stop signs, and was now pulling up to the gates of Garden Lodge. He managed to smile and wave at the fans and paparazzi, feeling smug inside because there was no way they could get a shot of Rufus under the blankets.

_Take that, you fucking predators.  
_

Once the gates had been closed behind him he breathed a sigh of relief that the paparazzi were cut off from view. Phoebe and Jim came out of the house with huge smiles on their faces. Roger stepped quickly out of the back seat to embrace each of them. Jim held onto him longer than usual and kissed him on the cheek. "We spent so much time planning this visit that I didn't get a chance to congratulate you properly."

When Roger pulled back he could see exhaustion and worry behind Jim's welcoming smile. What a heavy burden Jim carried, uncomplaining, and Roger respected him for it. "Glad to be here. The baby's asleep, so we can sneak in and surprise Freddie."

Phoebe grabbed the bag of baby equipment as Roger lifted the carrier out of the car, careful not to wake Rufus. He pulled the blanket back enough for Phoebe and Jim to peek inside. Phoebe's smile was as bright as the daylight itself, but Jim's was tinged with sorrow that he tried but failed to conceal.

When Jim put a finger to his lips and led the others inside, Roger was expecting to stop at the sitting room. Freddie usually spent his days in there, when he was well enough, but instead they headed for the music room and stopped just outside the door.

Freddie was playing the piano, his head bowed in concentration. Even through the velour of his tracksuit, Roger could plainly see sharpness in his bones that hadn't been so pronounced just a few weeks ago, and there were little hesitations in the chord changes when his frail fingers couldn't quite keep up with the music in his head. Roger felt Jim lean against him and that touch gave him the strength to stifle his shocked gasp.

"Freddie, love, guess who's here to see you?" Jim asked cheerfully. "It's Roger - and he's brought a friend!"

The look of absolute delight on Freddie's face was enough for Roger to break out into a genuine smile. "Hello, Fred. I want you to meet someone special."

Eyes brightening, Freddie leaned forward on the piano bench as Roger lifted the bundle of yellow blankets out of the carrier. He sat down next to Freddie, who cooed happily at the baby. "Oh, you precious thing, when did you arrive? And why didn't YOU tell me?" he added, poking Roger hard in the ribs.

"Four days ago, and because I wanted you to see instead of hear." Roger helped arrange the baby in Freddie’s arms, hovering nearby in case the weight proved to be more than he could hold.

"Boy or girl?" Freddie asked without looking away from the baby's sweet, sleepy face.

"Boy."

"He's got your hair, that's for certain." Freddie gently petted the tufts of silver-blonde hair that stuck up in every direction. "Hello, there, Blondie! Meet your Uncle Freddie!" Freddie finally tore his eyes away from the baby and beamed at Roger. "How's Debbie doing? Is there anything I can send her, anything we can do?"

Roger's heart swelled with love for his friend. "She's doing great. I mean, obviously she's tired, but she's a real trouper. Phoebe sent more presents than we can open, on your behalf, and Jim sent a gorgeous flower arrangement from your garden, so thank you—now that you know about it."

"I'm incredibly happy for you, darling." There was something wistful in Freddie's voice as he kept talking in a low whisper so as not to disturb the baby. "He's so peaceful. Remember how Felix peed all over me the first time I held him? And Rory was so squirmy - neither Dom nor Mary could calm her down that afternoon at Wembley."

Had it really only been five years ago that they'd stormed the stage for a pair of concerts that had lit up all of London?

Roger shook the memory loose and let it float away. He reached out to touch his son and let his fingers join Freddie's as they brushed against the baby's face. "I haven't told you his name yet," Roger said in the conspiratorial tone that had launched a thousand disreputable parties.

"Well, I assumed that's because you didn't want to break my fucking heart and tell me you didn't name him Tiger after all," replied Freddie in mock offense. "No one EVER listens to me; it's an absolute disgrace."

"His name's Rufus." Roger knew his eyes were twinkling and he couldn't keep from smiling. "Rufus Tiger Taylor."

Freddie turned to him, face alight with astonished joy. "No. You didn't REALLY."

"Yep. Legally and all, on his birth certificate. Done and dusted."

To his dismay, Roger saw that Freddie was beginning to weep. One teardrop landed on Rufus' forehead, prompting him to let out a little grunt of discontent. "Sorry, darling," Freddie muttered, blotting his face with a corner of the blanket. "I'm not qualified to baptise you, I'm afraid."

"Perfect time to ask," Roger said quickly, "speaking of baptisms and all. Deb and I were wondering if you'd be his godfather."

"Ah." Freddie leaned over Rufus and gently kissed his forehead. When he looked up at Roger, his dark eyes were full of pain and regret. "Sorry, Rog, but no. I can't."

"Fred, please, it'd mean so much—"

"He needs someone who'll really be there for him, darling." The sudden, unspeakable realisation that Rufus would be the last "prince" Freddie would live to meet constricted Roger's throat. With a sigh and one last stroke of the silky blond hair, Freddie handed Rufus back to his father. "Let's go sit down somewhere more comfortable, Roger. We need to talk."

Despite the warmth of the baby in his arms, Roger shivered. He rose and followed Freddie to the sofa, sitting to one side so that his son could rest between them. Freddie put one hand, so thin it seemed nearly translucent, on Rufus' head and the other on Roger's shoulder. "I'll only say this once, and only to you." He dropped his gaze for a moment as if something terribly interesting were happening on the floor, then he straightened his back and looked Roger directly in the eyes. "I think you already know, love, but it's time to admit the truth. I don't have much time left."

Unable to argue that point, unable to speak at all, Roger struggled to keep his eyes dry and his lips steady as he nodded.

Freddie inclined his head toward the piano. "I have some songs that are just about ready. Brian was here a couple of days ago and we worked on one together. I think it could be something special. I'm sure you have a few tunes lying around, and so do Brian and Deacy, so...I want Queen to record them."

"Here? In London?"

"No. Montreux." Roger shook his head, but Freddie continued undeterred. "One last trip, darling. Please," he wheedled.

Roger immediately thought of a dozen reasons why that was a terrible idea.

He dismissed them all.

"We'll do it differently this time. Just me on vocals, some kind of rhythm track or basic backing. You can fill in the rest later. After."

Roger found himself choking back tears. He refused to cry in front of Freddie. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Not when Freddie was so fucking brave.

"I want to say goodbye to Duckingham Palace. Get a little fresh air, away from the vultures outside these gates. And it'll give Jim some respite, poor darling boy, he's wearing himself to the bone. You can help take care of me; he trusts you completely."

"I will. I promise," Roger gasped, his throat so tight that he could scarcely breathe.

"Of course I want to sing, to make music as long as I'm able. But most of all, I want to leave you three something. You're not in the will, you see - you, or Deacy, or Brian."

"I don't care about that. Fuck, none of us cares about that," began Roger, but Freddie put a finger on his lips to silence him.

"So I want to leave you this, instead. One last album to remember me by." Freddie smiled down at Rufus. "So this one will know his Uncle Freddie's voice."

"Fred," Roger managed to whisper, "the whole world knows your voice. It's gonna last forever. I'll make sure it does."

He was perilously close to tears, taking slow, quiet breaths to calm himself. Luckily, Rufus chose that moment to open his eyes and blink at Freddie. Freddie looked closely at him, captivated, as if memorising his face. "Look how big and blue his eyes are! Just like yours, Rog!"

"He does look a lot like my baby pictures," Roger chuckled, relieved that he could rein in his emotions. "Poor sod, he's gonna look like his daddy instead of his mummy."

"Oh, stop it, you're a handsome devil and you've always known it." Freddie leaned to one side and kissed Roger's cheek. His lips were dry and cold, but the kiss was full of love. "I always felt so drab next to you, darling, like a dowdy old crow perched on Apollo's shoulder."

"Freddie, that's bollocks," huffed Roger. "You're the one everyone was always looking at." He struggled to find words to describe Freddie's unique incandescence. "You're the brightest light in the world."

It wasn't good enough, of course, but it seemed to please Freddie. "That's very kind, love, even though I'm getting dimmer all the time, it seems."

"Fred—"

"Oh, don't give me that look," Freddie said, chucking Roger under the chin as if he were one of the cats. "I already had to see one from Brian when I suggested Montreux to him. You know, THAT look," Freddie said, drawing his eyebrows together, tipping his head to one side, and putting his lower lip out a little in an uncanny imitation of Brian at his most obstreperous. "But he said he'd do it if you would."

"Oh, great, it's on me, how lovely. And I suppose you want me to convince Deacy?"

Freddie sighed and looked away. "It might take all three of us to do that. I really don't know. I haven't heard much from him, lately. After we did the video for 'Slightly Mad' he sort of...withdrew."

"Now that you mention it, I'm not sure when I last spoke with him." Roger and John had struggled as they observed Freddie suffering through the long days it took to shoot the video. "I remember that he was furious with Brian for playing with the penguins all the time instead of helping you. Gave Brian a piece of his mind that could've peeled paint off the walls."

It had taken two days and a lot of liquor to talk Brian off the emotional ledge after that happened, but that was another secret Roger had to keep all to himself. It was just part of his growing collection of tangled webs.

"My poor Deacy," mourned Freddie. "He's so scared. Do go easy on him in the studio, won't you, darling?"

"Of course." Roger drew in a ragged breath. His personal inclination to punch John in the face and tell him to grow a pair would have to be set aside. Roger's opinions didn't matter at a time like this, and if Freddie wanted to protect John then that was what Roger would do.

Anything.

If Freddie were cold, Roger would skin himself alive and wrap Freddie up in it.

Anything.

Freddie looked at him with anxious, feverish eyes. "Just one more chance for the four of us to be together. I think it'll help everyone to...to understand what's going to happen." His voice broke, taking Roger's heart with it. "I don't think John will be able to see me again once we're done. He's not as strong as you are. So, I want to be able to say goodbye to him as we're doing something we love."

That was so like Freddie, to be more worried about others than himself. Roger took Freddie's hand between both of his, warming the thin, dry skin. "I'll talk to Deacy. I'll pack his bags and shove him on the plane if I have to, but he'll be there." He paused to collect himself, making steady eye contact and trying to smile.

Freddie turned his head away and coughed roughly into his sleeve. Before he could draw another breath, Jim materialised at his side with a handkerchief and a glass of water. "Here, love, take it easy for a while," he murmured, lifting apologetic eyebrows at Roger.

There was blood on the handkerchief, which Freddie quickly folded and handed back to Jim along with the water glass.

Roger attempted to suppress a sorrowful groan by clearing his throat, blinking back tears as he looked at his watch. "We really should get home before Debbie sends the entire constabulary of London to find us."

"Do come visit when you can, and bring all your children with you. I love having the young ones around; Mary brings her Richard over nearly every day. And of course I want to get to know my little Tiger." He bent down to kiss Rufus' cheek, then held up his arms to embrace Roger.

He was so terribly thin, so fragile. Roger hugged him as fully but gently as he could, kissing him on the top of the head and then on the temple. "Once Debbie's up and about, we'll bring all three kids and have a picnic."

"That'd be marvelous," Freddie said, beaming first at Roger and then at Jim. "And do give Debbie my best love and let us know what we can do for her."

 _You could stay alive._  
_For me._  
_Oh, Freddie._

"I'll give you a call tomorrow." He lifted Rufus in his arms and let Phoebe help him arrange him in the carrier. "Take care, Freddie," he called over his shoulder.

"And you, my love." Freddie sank deeper into the sofa as Jim covered him with blankets.

It took all of Roger's will not to run out of the house, baby and all, and start throwing things out of sheer frustration and sorrow. Instead, he walked slowly with Phoebe at his side. "You know he wants to go to Montreux," Roger said as he fastened the carrier into the back seat of the limo.

"We'll make it work, Roger. It's what he wants—how could we NOT do it?"

Roger took the bag of baby things from Phoebe and shook his hand, then tugged him closer for a hug. "Whatever he wants," Roger affirmed before getting into the back of the car.

Phoebe pressed a button and the gates slid open. The flock of paparazzi had become a mob, and the limo driver sucked in a breath. "There's a lot of them out there, Mr. Taylor," he grumbled. "They've got a nerve."

"More nerve than brain," Roger agreed.

"I can try to outrun them, if you want."

Roger wanted to run OVER them. He had done, once, by "accidentally" driving over the foot of a photographer who was standing in front of him, and it had felt liberating. But that wouldn't be fair to the driver and might be dangerous for his son, so he settled his sunglasses on his nose and said, "Stop just outside and I'll talk to them."

For some reason, he suddenly remembered that vultures feeding on a dead body were called a wake.

_FUCK THEM._

Roger rolled the window down and gave his cheesiest smile to the waiting horde. "Can I help you?" he inquired as flash bulbs went off like bombs in the Blitz.

"Roger, is that your new son with you?"

 _This one's a proper genius._ "Well-spotted, since my 'old' son would hardly fit in this tiny carrier."

"Did you take him to visit Freddie?"

 _No, I took him to visit the cats. What the fuck kind of question is that?_ "Of course! Freddie gets on great with kids. He and Rufus are already thick as thieves."

"Aren't you afraid that the baby will...catch something?"

 _Nice try. Also, you're lucky I can't punch you in the face from here._ "I hope he will catch something from Freddie. His artistry, his kindness, his passion for music. Anyone would be fortunate to catch those things from him."

"How is Freddie's health?"

 _Could you at least TRY to sound concerned instead of gleeful, you cretin?_ Roger tidied up Rufus' blankets to give himself a second to formulate his response, then he looked up at the reporter and winked. "Well, he's burning the candle at both ends working on songs for the new album, so I'd say he's absolutely glowing. Gotta dash, fellas."

He rolled up the heavily tinted windows, putting a barrier between himself and the press, between his innocent son and the unforgiving world, between the fire in Freddie's eyes and the tragedy that would soon snuff it out.

"I'm ready," he said to the driver.

He was ready to keep all their secrets, and to keep their music burning bright.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lydiannode - come talk to me!


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